


Wurst Case Scenario

by Masu_Trout



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: ...And a 1 On His Common Sense Check, Amnesia, Gen, Pre-Canon, Taako Rolls a 20 On His Charisma Check
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 02:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12267450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: It's not where you came from; it's where you're going that matters....Which is a good thing, because Taako's not really sure where he came from, why he's here, or who exactly the strange man sitting in the front seat of the carriage is supposed to be.





	Wurst Case Scenario

**Author's Note:**

> With every word I write, the temptation to name all my Taako-centric fics after episodes of _Chopped_ grows stronger and stronger.

Taako wakes.

His feet are dangling off the edge of a small, straw-stuffed mattress. He's not in a room, exactly—it's more like a storage closet than anything else, what with the size and the various cooking implements hanging on every wall. He's also wearing a black t-shirt and worn cotton pajama pants, which feels… weird, somehow. At the very least, he's pretty sure he doesn't remember ever visiting _Neverwinter's Largest Train Museum!_

The ground under him rolls and shakes in a steady rhythm. _A ship_ , he thinks, and then: _a caravan_. If he was on a boat he'd be able to smell the seawater.

That doesn't answer the question of where he is, though. Last he remembers, he was looking for—

He was talking to—

He'd been planning to go hang out with—

His head hurts.

“Wow,” Taako says to the empty air. “Must've been some party.”

Taako jumps and nearly slams his head on a shelf when the curtain at the front of the room is pulled open. He reaches into a pocket he doesn't have for a wand he also doesn't have, stares stupidly down at his hands for a moment, then turns to face the stranger with both arms outstretched and his fingers curled into claws.

It's a little bit threatening, maybe? Probably would be a better look if he weren't advertising a train museum right now, but it's not like stripping his shirt off is going to improve his intimidation factor any. His charisma, perhaps, but he's already sitting on some stranger's bed and that's maybe not the message he wants to be sending. He's fucking good-looking, obviously, he could totally worm his way out of this situation with judicious application of his amazing body, but—nah. Not gonna go for it right now.

“Halt!” he snaps, real authoritative, “Who goes there?”

“Um?” says the man on the other side of the curtain, “Well, I mean, I'm not really going anywhere, I can't let go of the reins. Unless you mean to Neverwinter, but we're both going there, so…”

The man is, to Taako's disappointment, a complete and utter stranger: a half-elf with a beaming grin and a slightly nervous hunch to his posture. A bit of a nerd, really, which probably rules out this being a terrible one-night-stand. He doesn't normally go for the dorky sorts. Those guys are more to—someone else's—taste. 

“Neverwinter?” he asks. It sounds a little familiar. He's not sure if he's been there before, but—he's heard of it, he thinks? Maybe?

The stranger nods. “Yeah, your assistant said that was the direction I should take you. Said you had a show coming up soon, and I ought to help in any way I can.” In a rush, he adds, “You know, I'm actually very good at—”

Taako cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “My assistant,” he says, and then, “My show.” 

It's not a question. It's _not_. If he were asking questions about such simple things, then that would mean he's completely goddamn lost, and he isn't. He's _Taako_ ; he knows exactly who and where he is at all times. It's just the rest of the of the world that needs to get itself straightened out. 

“You know,” the stranger says a bit uncertainly, “the woman with… um. The woman who…” He makes a vague sort of hand gesture. “The woman.”

“Right,” Taako says, both because he can't argue with such _fucking_ eloquence and because he actually does remember the woman a bit. Human, with dark skin and light hair and a journal always clasped in hand. _Assistant_ doesn't feel right at all, but then, who else could she possibly be?

Maybe he hired her as an accountant. That would make sense. He hates math, unless it's in the form of measuring out recipe ingredients, and he always endeavors to forget anything and anyone math-related as quickly as possible.

It must be working. Already he's forgotten what she looked like. _Hair_ , he thinks, and then, _journal_ , and then the man sitting in front of the coach cuts his train of thought off once more.

“I'm hoping she was your assistant, anyway,” he says, with a quick burst of nervous laughter. “It would, uh—it would be really bad if she weren't because I think that would mean I'm kidnapping you?”

Taako waves a hand breezily. “Of course you're not. I'm unkidnappable. If you were trying to abduct me, you'd be a pile of ash on the floor already.” He frowns. “Or, a—a duck, or something. I'm not so much with the burning things, actually. More into transmutation.” 

“Oh, well, that's good.” The stranger speaks with surprising enthusiasm for a man just confronted with his potential fate as a pile of ash and/or a duck. “I really am interested in your show. I've _always_ loved to cook, and I think it's amazing what you're doing.”

“A cooking show. Right.” It slots into place, then, as easy as can be. Of course he'd have a cooking show—he's _Taako_. If there's two things in life he knows, it's how to cook and how to put on a show.

(He's pretty sure he remembers that woman telling him something about the show, now that he thinks back. A word of encouragement, whispered in his ear. _You'll be so good at this, Taako. You'll be amazing._ Which—duh. He's good at everything.)

With that piece of missing knowledge recovered, everything else suddenly seems less foreign. The implements on the walls must be his: a spatula, a whisk, a recipe book, fifty different kinds of measuring cups made to ten different species' recipe styles. It's all right and it's all right here.

“Next show's in Neverwinter, yeah?” he asks, and the stranger's face lights up.

“Yes, that's right! Down near the train station, she said, to show busy commuters how to make quick and easy no-mess meals. And, I mean, I know I'm only just your driver, but if there's anything I can help with, _anything_ at all—”

“What's your name, friend?”

“Oh! Right, of course. I'm Sazed.” Sazed sticks a hand out, belatedly realizes he needs to be holding onto the reins, and hurriedly grabs for them before Taako can so much as offer up a _Hail and well met_.

“Sazed, huh.” He needs a new assistant, now that his bookkeeper or accountant or _whatever_ has apparently disappeared into thin air. This guy's friendly, eager to please—reminds him of a student just starting at the best college in the world. All that eager energy. 

This might work. This might really, really work.

He smiles like a cat, stretches lazily. “Real nice to meet you, my pal. I think we're going to be great friends.” He doesn't offer his hand—no point in risking the horses again—but he gives a little wave. “I'm Taako, by the way.”

“Obviously!” Sazed grins, goofy and elated. “The woman told me. You're famous, she said. A real star.”

He likes the sound of that. _A real star._ Taako doesn't think he's famous—he's got no recollection of any adoring fans or big-budget merchandise deals, at least.

He will be, though. Taako decides it right then and there, sitting on a bed he doesn't remember on his way to a city he hardly knows: someday, somehow, everyone's going to know his name.


End file.
